I'd Wait a Lifetime For You
by klainedestiel
Summary: The year is 1937, two years before World War 2 - and Blaine, a soldier, falls in love with an ordinary bookstore owner. Klaine war!AU.
1. They meet

AN: long story short: I sort of craved for a war au and here we are (and I kinda wrote it oops)

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_May, 1937_

Kurt walked from his awful day at work, and to be honest - his whole had been awful. On top of a crappy day, he had forgotten his umbrella, so he had to jog his way to meet his best friend. He didn't even had a newspaper to hold over his head, so his brand new bought velvet hat was ruined too. He saw the cafe, and through the window he saw Mercedes sitting inside around a table. Not looking where he was walking, he stumbled into a puddle. "Damn it!" Kurt curses to himself, the water splashing to his nice shoes and trouser legs. Just his luck.

He runs inside the cafe as if he could get any more wet, he was already soaked from his head to his toes.

"How was your day, Kurt?" His best friend Mercedes asks when her friend strolls to sit beside her.

Kurt stares bluntly at his friend, sneering even a bit. "Are you serious? What do you think?" He shoots back angrily, as he tries to dry his jacket. Now she glimpses at him: tired, floating eyes with dark circles under, his back hunching seeming to fall to the cafe table any minute. His clothes were rumpled and cloaked, his hat strangely awry, not to mention his hair that was now glued to his head and dripping raindrops over his face. "My day's been a real blast," Kurt tells, irony in his chuckle, "And I hate everything right now."

"Oh, now you're just saying," Mercedes tries to comfort her best friend, holding his hand(that was cold from the raining), but he pulls it away quickly.

"Oh yes? Think again when you hear what happened to me today!" Kurt explains loudly - his hands up - and angrily. "First, I got barely any sleep because of that damn dog I've been complaining all week. He kept barging over midnight. Then, the_ very_ smart constructive workers thought they had nothing better to do at 5 am in the morning than start drilling in the construction site right next to my flat. Not only the bus for work was late, Mr. Sylvester was already there, at the door, complaining why my store wasn't open at eight sharp."

"Take a break, Kurt dear," Mercedes stops his dramatic report with a calming voice. But he was just getting started by the looks of it.

"No, I've only begun," He pants from telling about his terrible day, inhales and continues: "The worst thing was yet to come. I spend my whole morning to afternoon putting my book copies on a nice pile, so people would buy them when they would see them in there in a lovely pile – but _of course_ someone had to push them over, creating a huge mess all over. Just when I had finished putting them, that damn hatted man fell over them! Not to mention he also broke one of my best bookshelves. I can't afford to fix it, if my novel doesn't sell. Do I look like I'm made out of money? Then – thinking my day would get brighter by vising the army quaters to get my result letter, no no. The same hatted man shouted for the army secretary for thirty minutes straight until the office closed – right in front of my nose! Can you believe that, Mercedes? And, of course, on my way to meet you I had forgotten my umbrella home so I am drenched wet and hating my life."

"Oh, now, now," Mercedes tried to console him but he was more tensed now, breathing heavily and letting out frustrated grunts. She tries to think something comforting to say and the only thought comes to her mind is his book. "I thought your book was selling good," she asks nicely, half afraid if it was right topic to ask of her upset friend.

"No, it's not," he replies coldly, distantly – then taking her coffee cup and drinking it all, gulping loudly and eyes wandering all around. The hot coffee warmed his body a bit, but his wet clothes made him shiver.

"I'm sure the selling will rise up, you just wait."

Mercedes looks at her friend whose mind seemed to be somewhere else, as his eyes looked up the streets, then looking up the clearing sky.

"Kurt?"

He blinked his tired eyes, his back benting dowm. "I better go to change my clothes," Kurt yawned, putting the coffee cup down.

"I'll suppose I will see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, tomorrow..." Kurt replies, trailing off, from the lack of sleep. Mercedes smiled politely.

"Do you need me to walk with you?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you."

And Kurt left home with striding steps. His eyes kept going close during the bus ride, having to keep himself wake so he remembered to hop off the right stop. He reached for his keys, opening the door at his third try, getting the key to the hole with his shaky hands. He probably left the block of flats door open but he was too sleepy to think. When he entered his room, his only functioning brain part walked him to his bed (he somehow got his clothes off sloppily and didn't bother to change into pajamas)and he collapsed to the soft bed, falling asleep instantly.

Unfortunately for him, he didn't get as much sleep he wanted. Not less than two hours of sleep and he was awakened by a child's loud crying. His eyes opened in a blink, eyes burning of anger. He groaned, trying to cover his ears with his pillow – but then the crying changed into screaming, and it kept getting louder and louder. He even heard something breaking. "Are you kidding me?!" He growls, getting his strength to leave the comfortable bed. He plods to the hallway, screaming increasing, going to the halfway of the stairs of the flat when he sees a young girl. Probably five years old or younger, face all red and tears streaming down as she cries out and screams.

"Give it back!" A young man shouts to the little girl, and Kurt observes as a door opened, the downstairs floor, going to the crying girl.

"I want mama!" The girl screamed louder, the man trying to get something out of her hands, a hat, that she was gripping tight.

"She's not here right now - " The man tried to calm her down, only making it worse. Kurt grunted in frustrated.

"_I want my mama!_" The girl cried out, stumbling the floor angrily. The man hushed the girl, getting the top hat out of her hands. Kurt knew that hat. But by taking the hat, she screamed louder.

"Can somebody get that thing quiet? I'm _trying_ to sleep!" Kurt yelled. Both of them turned to him, the girl tilting her head.

"I'm.. I'm sorry, sir," The black haired man's eyes observe Kurt as he apologizes. At first he thought he just stared because Kurt yelled at him, but then Kurt remembered. He was only in his underwear. He gulped, looking down and thanking he wore his decent underpants, and when he looked back at the young, rather handsome man, he was still staring at him.

"Where's my mama!_ I want my mama!_" The girl interrupted the awkward silence between them with a yell.

"Shh, shhh. She'll pick you up soon, darling. Want to watch some TV?" The man says to calm her, the girl seeming to like the idea and walking down the hallway to the flat, eyes still wet of the crying.

"Thank Heaven's she quieted down," Kurt sighs. The man walked to the beginning of the stairs.

"I'm sorry if that bothered you, sir," the man apologizes humbly. Kurt couldn't help but to notice that his eyes kept gazing at his half naked body. He tried to lean on the railing, to hide himself.

"Somebody here are trying to sleep."

The young man seemed to amuse by his words. "It's only four thirty."

"Well, not everybody can sleep while _somebody's _dog is barking all night long," Kurt complained.

"Fluffy's not a barker."

"Fluffy? What a funny name. But, yes, he was. Do I look like I have slept well?" Kurt stared at him prickly. "You must have some sleeping skills, indeed."

"I haven't been in my flat for couple days. I left him home, I had no idea," the man explains. His hazel eyes glance the handsome young man, in his underwear. "I do not believe we have been properly introduced. I moved here last week. My name is -"

"I don't want to know your name," Kurt interrupted him rudely, the hazel eyed boy frowning. "I only want my sleeping peace. If you wouldn't mind."

"Of course," he promised.

"Good." And Kurt walked back to his flat, slumping to his bed, and getting good night sleep – not waking up till six o'clock the next morning.

* * *

When Kurt woke up he was well rested and perky. Gladly he didn't hear that child's scream anymore, Kurt assuming her mother picked her up. No barging either, the only thing that woke him up was that construction site's sounds. He thanked they began hour later. He bathed, ate breakfast while reading the morning's paper. He shook his head in disapproval while reading the news about rearmament, the possibility of coming war, the ongoing competition between countries. Kurt wasn't afraid of war, it was almost the opposite: he wanted to be a soldier. Ever since a kid, he'd dream to follow his grandfather and father's steps to become an army soldier and fight for justice. So when he first turned eighteen couple months ago, he immediately wanted to join the army. Sadly, however, because of his thinness and his disabilities he was disqualified. This didn't let him down, Kurt tried every month to join the army, always getting the same result.

Kurt left at 7:15, to get the bus to work. He would go to the army office today as well to get his letter he sent weeks ago.

"Good Morning," a voice greeted when Kurt walked the stairs down.

"Morning," Kurt wished politely back to the hazel eyed boy, and he fastened his steps. He couldn't believe the coincidence, seeing the man with exact same clothes as the man who had made his day worse yesterday. Not only with the child's screaming, but also being the same one who toppled his books, broke his bookshelf and yelled at the army office. Kurt thought how could he not seen him before, but then remembered he said he moved last week. They'd gone off with an awful start and to be honest, Kurt wished he wouldn't have any business with him.

Kurt thought he lost him by walking faster, but it seemed he was going with the same bus as well. It was awkward moment when he arrived to the same bus stop a couple minutes after, Kurt avoiding eye contact and taking out a book of his bag. The bus arrived on time, and like every morning, it was crowded. Another awkward moment happened in the bus way to work when he and his downstairs neighbor had to fit in the crowded bus, having to stand quite close enough. And every time the bus braked or took a fast curve, they would stumble on each other, both saying quiet sorry's to each other every time they bumped into each other. Kurt was relieved when he got out the bus before any other "accidents" happened between them.

Otherwise his day went fine like any other day, meeting Mercedes after work and he collected his letter, not accepted, which wasn't a surprise but every time Kurt got a letter from army he hoped he could join it. His friend tried to cheer him up by going to the movies, but it didn't get his mood better.

* * *

Kurt's week went by working in his bookstore. He noticed that the hazel eyed hatted man (it was what he called him, still not knowing his name nor wanting to find out) traveled to work the same time and with the same bus. They'd share long gazes, say good morning to each other (that being the only thing they said to each other), awkward touches every time they would be in a crowded bus together, without saying a word.

It was a week or so later, in a lazy afternoon in the bookstore, Kurt was putting books to shelves. His bookstore was a inheritance from his passed grandmother, and since he didn't get to the army it was his day job. It was rather tiny one, couple customers per day. Kurt was the only worker there, he couldn't afford pay enough to have more workers. He wasn't rich, but it paid his bills and got food to his plate.

He was too concentrated on his work to notice a customer in the store.

"Excuse me."

"How can I help you?" He turned around with a polite smile, couple books in his hands.

"Hi," the hazel eyed hatted man greets with a sweets smile. Kurt almost dropped his books, surprising him - of all people - in his store.

"H-hello," he greets back shyly. He was wearing the same hat he always did, and a long dark brown tweed jacket, looking like a real gentleman.

"I, um, was actually looking for you."

"You.. were?"

He nods. "Yes." He picks something out of his jacket's pockets, a tattered piece of paper. "I saw this advert of yours, about a poem night?" Kurt looks it closely, and it was one of the adverts about the poem night that was arranged in his bookstore.

"Well, it's not _my_ poem night," he corrects, the man raising his eyebrow curiously. "The arranger only rented my bookstore for every weekend for a poem reading night, so it's technically not mine. Only the store is."

"I see," the hazel eyed boy replies disappointed, putting the paper back to his pocket. Kurt turns back to the bookshelf, putting one book to the shelf before he hears the man stepping closer.

"Can I ask you a favor?" He asks.

"What kind of favor?"

"You see, I'm.. I would like to read my poems there. I haven't really got my chance, but if you know the arranger who chooses the poets, maybe you could recommend me to him? Please?"

"You're a poet?" Kurt amazes.

"Well, I wouldn't say exactly a poet.. I haven't even published any of them yet.. "

"In that case, I'm sorry, I can't help you."

"Please, I need this. My publisher said if I got some audience it would help me to publish my poems."

Kurt sighed, looking his cute begging puppy eyes. "Wait," the man says, opening his shoulder bag. He digs up a leaflet which had a couple pages of paper riveted together."Here."

"What's this?" Kurt asks, when he gave it to him.

"It's my poems. Please, just read a couple of them. I would really appreciate it."

Kurt looks at the cheaply made 'book' he gave, which read 'Languages of Love by Blaine Anderson'. "Blaine Anderson?" Kurt asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah," he smiles by the call of his name, then pointing at himself proudly. "That would be me."

"Not a very catchy name," Kurt jokes.

"I won't need one when I have my poems," Blaine replies with pride, Kurt surprised that he wasn't offended by his words. Kurt nods, browsing the poems through quickly, and folding the poem flier to his vest pocket. Blaine looked uncomfortable when he folded it, but didn't say anything. Instead, he asked, softly, "And who you might be?"

"Don't you know my name?" He seemed offended. Blaine chuckled.

"Well, your last name must be Hummel, unless you have stolen this bookstore from someone," Blaine figured out playfully, (since the name of the bookstore was 'The Hummel Bookstore') "but since you don't have a name tag or anything, I think I have to guess."

"That would take forever," Kurt smiles. "My name is Kurt."

"Kurt," Blaine says his name gently, with a spark in his eyes. "I guess I will be seeing you around."


	2. They become friends (more or less)

**Chapter 2 **

Another week passed by, give or take. With the sudden flow of customers in his store kept Kurt surprisingly busy. Even one or two of his novels was sold, and Kurt even received few nice reviews from his book. The other matter that kept him busy was Blaine's poem leaflet. Since he opened it, read the first poem, he couldn't stop reading. He found himself fallen to the world of the poems: his beautifully written words told about far off places, about epic true love, about unrequited love, about tragic love. Even thought almost every poem of his told about love, that was a unknown subject for Kurt and which of he knew nothing about (and sometimes felt it was too overrated especially in poems) Kurt couldn't deny how amazingly written his poems about love were.

With his poems he could simply forget the rest of the world and get wrapped up in the words, and for Kurt, the word love had always been a distant and cold thought – but reading his love poems he felt like he knew everything about love. Blaine's way to describe love diversely, portraying it beautifully, so that in every tiny word had a great emotion in it, every verse and every rhyme, tormented his heart of his incredible talent, how soulful writer he was. Kurt spend his days deepened in reading poems, even though the flier had crumpled of the folding and being in his pockets, but nevertheless the poems did a great impression on him. The words were stuck in Kurt's head the whole week. He surprised himself realizing how such a tiny piece of paper could have such influence in him. How much potential Blaine had as a poet, how great his anthology would be if he wrote one.

It was a rainy Sunday. Kurt had a low day, only one customer (and it was Mercedes with her friend so it barely counted as one..) But it had given him good time finish a book or two and of course read Blaine's poems.

Kurt was walking back home (he'd just missed his bus so he decided to walk instead), but of course it started to rain in the middle of his way on the pavement. It was silent, only cars honks driving by and torrent rain heard.

"Kurt!" Someone called through the heavy rain. Before he could even turn to look who it was – someone ran towards him with an umbrella.

"You're soaking wet," Blaine says and walks beside him, their shoulders grazing when he came close so Kurt and he could fit under the same umbrella. His usually nicely done black hair was now messy and curly of the moist weather.

"Thank you, Blaine," Kurt smiles a little when they're under the umbrella, and he was glad he didn't get that wet, because he almost got sick the last time he got soaked wet. But he couldn't deny the chemistry between them as they walk side by side, shoulders touching each other's, Blaine holding the umbrella.

"You're welcome. So...," Blaine whispers as it was nothing, looking down the pavement. "Have you.. possibly... "

"Yes, I have read your poems if that is what you were to ask," Kurt chuckles for his awkward way of putting it.

"Oh, goodie, well what – what did you think?" He stutters a bit, stopping the walking and staring at him, close, their chests couple inches apart.

"Uh.." Kurt murmurs of his closeness. He has to step back a little to get his head straight, the raindrops falling to his back.

"You didn't like them," Blaine deducts sadly, nodding understandingly but bitterly.

"No, no, I loved them."

"Wait, what? You are not joking?"

"No. I absolutely loved them! How are you_ not_ a poet yet? The way you describe love with such emotion.. " Kurt admires. Blaine blushed, looking down nervously.

"Thank you. It means a lot."

"You should definitely be a poet or a writer. You have a great talent, Blaine."

"Now you're just being polite," Blaine replies humbly, not believing his words but his honest eyes stared at him telling otherwise. "Wait. Does this mean..?"

Kurt nodded approval. "Oh My God! Thank you!"

"No, don't get too excited yet," Kurt tried to calm the eager Blaine who was jumping, and jumping with the umbrella wasn't such a good idea so Blaine accidentally dropped it down between his hops. "Sorry," Blaine apologizes and picks the umbrella up.

"It's fine. But all I'm saying don't get your hopes up yet. I talked to him about you, and I'm not sure when I will get his answer. The next poem night is on next Saturday so if we're lucky, you'll be there."

"Next Saturday?" Blaine looked worried.

"Yes, why?"

"We have weapon practice the whole week. I'm not getting another holiday like this in another four weeks! Do you think he is going to have other poem night in other weeks?"

"Wait a minute," Kurt holds his breath, couldn't believe what he heard. "You're.. an army soldier?"

Blaine nods." Yeah. Didn't I tell you that?"

"You're a soldier," Kurt repeated with unbelieving eyes.

"Yes. Why is it so hard to believe?"

Kurt shrugged his shoulders. "Well, gee, I don't know, maybe because I don't expect soldiers to write sensitive poems about love?"

"It's only a job, Kurt," Blaine laughs. "Besides, it's not like I've killed somebody." Kurt stared at him terrified.

"I'm only kidding! I haven't been participated any war nor will I. It's just military work like no other," he reassures even Kurt had his doubtful eyes.

"I'd give anything to work for the army," Kurt whispers and begins to walk on the pavement, Blaine having to follow him as he holds the umbrella. "Really?" He asks curiously. "I wouldn't expect a bookstore owner wanting to become a soldier."

Kurt laughs for his joke. "It's complicated," he answers quietly and absently. Blaine tilts his head to see his face that was down.

"I have time," Blaine smiles encouraging. Kurt gazes up, catching him staring at him interested to know about his life.

"Maybe another time," Kurt says, not wanting to talk about it, then points the block of flats behind them. "Anyway, this is where I live."

"Oh, you are not kidding," Blaine grins boyishly.

He simply rolls his eyes and walks inside the block of flats, Blaine silently following him, and when he was in the stars, he turns around to say: "I hope that dog of yours won't barge tonight. Or your child."

Blaine laughs sweetly, making his heart warm. "You can count on it. And I don't think I will see my niece any time soon, because of my busy work."

"Ah, niece," Kurt nods.

"You didn't really think she was my daughter, did you?"

"No, I thought you stole her."

Blaine laughs more, flashing him a grant smile, making Kurt's heart implode of happiness, having the most beautiful and sweetest smile in the world. "Good night," Blaine wishes.

"Good night" Kurt wishes back, going inside his flat. And he couldn't get that smile of his away from his face for the whole night.

* * *

How unbelievable it was to Kurt, he did in fact manage to get Blaine to perform on Saturday. He wasn't even sure of it himself, but Kurt guessed it was because he loved Blaine's poems and he was honestly good. The Saturday night came quickly. Blaine said he was working that day, but would try to get off work earlier than usual so he would make to the poem night that started at seven o'clock.

He was nervous all day. Kurt kept watching at his clock, and after five, he watched the familiar faces passing to the bookstore, the same people who always came to listen the poets, couple few faces among them (but one of the old ones was Mercedes who waved happily to him). They always came hour or two earlier to have a chat between each others and drink tea.

"Where's your buddy?" Tom, the renter, asks Kurt.

"He'll be here," Kurt answers and nervously looks at his watch. It was six thirty already. Blaine should be here soon.

"He better get his ass here, or this will be the last time I come here," Tom threats rudely and walks to put the stage(that was a lectern..) together. Kurt swallowed nervously, stretching his fingers, looking at the door if he came.

Time passed by. Tom walked around the stage and through about two dozen chairs that were filled with talking people. It was almost seven o'clock and there was no sign of Blaine, even Kurt started to get worried. Had something happened to him? Kurt knew how much this meant to him, there was no way he would miss this.

Tom jogged to Kurt, pointing at the old wall clock, showing ten to seven. "Where is the damn poet? This should have started ten minutes ago. "

"He'll be here, don't you worry, Tom," Kurt assures strongly.

"Really? If he was really committed poet he'd be here already stepping to the stage - "

And then the door slammed open, an out of breath soldier rushing in. "Am.. am I late?" He pants heavily, his hands on his knees.

"Who's this?" Tom asks confused, eyeing the man.

"I'm.. Blaine.. " Blaine pants, his face red, obviously he had been running the whole way here. Tom shakes his head.

"No, you can't be him."

"It's him, Tom. The stage's all yours," Kurt smiled friendly and pointed at the stage. Blaine nodded, and begin to walk there but Tom stopped him with his hand to his chest. "Excuse me," Blaine pardoned, taking his wrinkled flier of poems out of his pocket and walked through the people. He got odd stares and low whispering when he entered the stage, with his formal military outfit on. His hair was gelled back like his usual look, so he swept his fingers through the hair to tidy the strips of his wispy hair that had fallen to his forehead to the side.

He walked to the lectern, cleared his throat, put down his leaflet. Then, he looked at his audience with the warmest smile Kurt loved, his teeth showing and corners of mouth widely smiling, "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Let me introduce myself, I'm Blaine Anderson and I will be reading my poems from my little flier tonight - " He waved his flier inf front the crowd, a few laughs " - called Language of Love. Without further do, let's begin, shall we? I hope you enjoy."

And he began. Kurt listened and stared him the whole time he read his poems, almost mouthing the words he knew by heart. At least some of them. He smiled proudly the whole night, because of him he was there reading them to people for the first time in his life. It was an odd sign to see, to be honest – a man dressed as military clothes reading poems about epic and great love stories, but in a way, it made him special. Unique.

Kurt was too concentrated on him to see how Tom was watching him, but he enjoyed his poems as well despite Blaine being late. After the poem night was ending, the audience applauded, Kurt the most. A humble smile came on his face, not expecting this kind of response.

"Thank you, thank you so much," he thanked gratefully, bowing to the audience. Kurt watched as Tom walked to him, patting his back respecting. The audience began to leave, and Mercedes walked to her friend.

"Where did you find him?" She asks curiously, looking at Blaine.

"Downstairs," Kurt replies seriously, Mercedes turning to him with confused eyes. "He lives in the flat under me."

"You don't say," she wondered, then gazing at Blaine again, who was now discussing with a woman, one of the audience. "He's handsome, too," Mercedes adds with a giggle.

"Is that all you think about, dear?"

"Why, sensitive men are hard to find. _Oh!_ \- " Mercedes raises her voice of excitement, taking by his arm. "Introduce us, will you, Kurt, please?"

He rolls his eyes, her grip tightening when the hazel eyed boy walked to him with a happy smile on his face.

"What a night!" Blaine puffs, taking a deep breath.

"You were amazing," Kurt admires.

"I know, right?" Blaine grins arrogantly, fixing his collar - before breaking into laughter. The both laugh, Mercedes staying silent. "Kurt, aren't you going to introduce us?" Mercedes says.

"Oh, yes, um, Blaine – meet Mercedes, my dearest friend. Mercedes, Blaine," he introduces him, Blaine taking her hand and kissing her palm like real gentleman did.

"My lady," he smiles with a little bit flirt in his eyes, Mercedes giggling and blushing of his manners.

"My, what a gentleman," Mercedes chuckles. "Your poems were absolutely brilliant!"

"Thank you."

"They were, indeed," Tom says from behind and comes beside them. "True talent. I will be having another poem night in few weeks. You are welcomed, Mr. Anderson."

"Thank you, sir, I will be there, I promise."

"On time, too, perhaps?" He asks teasingly.

Blaine laughs nervously. "You can count on it, sir."

"I'm glad to hear that. Kurt, I will see you next poem evening too. Good night to you all."

They wished good night, Mercedes looking at her clock when Tom left. "Oh, my, look at the time. I better be going home. I will see you later, boys," she says and winks at Blaine, who seemed surprised by the attention she gave him.

"Good night," Kurt wishes, and kisses her cheek as a goodbye. She waves at the boys before she leaves the bookstore.

Now it was empty from all the people, leaving only Kurt and Blaine alone there. Blaine takes a couple deep breaths before he finds a chair to sit in.

"Are you all right?" Kurt asks politely.

"Yes, it's just..," Blaine leans his elbows to his legs, his hand going through his hair. "This night was so overwhelming."

"But you survived it well. They loved you."

"They loved my poems, not me."

"Is there a difference?"

Blaine doesn't reply, simply smiles genuinely at him. Kurt takes another chair and sits in front of him. "Rather strange outfit for a poem reading, don't you think?"

"I know, today was a mess. I was afraid I'd miss it."

"What happened?"

Blaine sighs. "Oh, you know, busy day at the army quarters. I knew if I'd said the real reason why I needed to leave early they'd never let me. So I did not tell the real reason and did my business quickly. That turned out to be a mistake when we tried on new armoring all afternoon, it taking longer than expected and we always need to do our basic training. I ran all the way where the army bus leaves and I ran like hell. I had no time for a change of wardrobe."

"I think that made an impression to many people."_ especially on Mercedes_, Kurt wanted to add, but didn't say it.

"My clothes?"

"Not many soldier can write poems like you do."

He smiles. "Thank you, Kurt."

"My pleasure."

"No, not just for this. For reading my poems in the first place. Without you I would have not been here tonight. "

"You don't need to thank me," Kurt says. "You were the one to ask me a favor."

"You could have turned me down, considering our past."

Kurt raises his curious eyebrow. "Our past?"

"Oh, don't play to pretend you don't remember me. Being the one who broke that shelf over there - " Blaine pointed at one of the bookshelves behind Kurt. "And that I made your lovely pile of books to collapse. Or that I yelled so long at the office. Or that my dog barged so loud you could't sleep. Or my niece -"

"That's all right, Blaine," he stops him. Blaine gets something out of his pockets, his wallet and takes all the bills there.

"This is what Tom gave me tonight. Here, take it," he reaches the money to Kurt, who refused to take them.

"No, no I can't take your money. You earned those."

"Please, to repair your shelf. You probably need this more than I do."

"I can't take your money, Blaine," Kurt objected, standing up from the chair. Even how much he wanted to, he was too nice to take them, and the only thing he saw before Blaine left was a hint of a mysterious smile.

But then – the following day, the reason for that strange smile cleared up. In the noon of the day, there was a knock on the bookstore's door and a builder walked in. He carried a tool box in his hands, and a jar of nails. "Mornin'", the man said, bowed a little with his head wear, and stepped out the store. Kurt followed his doings inquisitively and in a minute he walked back only carrying piles of boards in his arms.

"I.. uh.. Excuse me, sir," Kurt interrupts his doings quickly, when he took a hammer and some nails to his hands. "I didn't hire you."

The builder looked confused, rubbing his bearded jaw. "No, he did not," a familiar voice said and Blaine's grinning face popped to the bookstore's doorway. He was different looking from his last night outfit, but not unrecognizable. He appeared to love tweed jackets, because he was now wearing a tailored, mixture of brown and beige tweed jacket with a blue and gold striped tie. And of course his usual slicked back hairstyle, that Kurt now saw completely since every other time he had wore a hat (top hat, fedora hat and his uniform hat) "I did," Blaine added when Kurt said nothing.

"Well, in that case, I shall begin my work," the builder growled, and started repairing the bookshelf.

"What is this, Blaine?" Kurt asks, in wonder, walking to the doorway.

"You did not want the money, which I understand. I had no use for them either, so I used my very smart mind and thought, I owe you a new bookshelf. Then I hired the best man for the job with the money I had."

He takes a glimpse behind, seeing he seemed to know what he was doing(thankfully Kurt had emptied the bookshelf when it broke). "Thank you," he praises.

"It's the least I can do," Blaine smiles politely. He looks down his watch. "I better go or I will be late for work."

"Will I..," he mumbles with nervous eyes.

"Yes?"

"Will we meet again?" There was hope in his question and shyness. Kurt only laughed for his question, raising Blaine's curiosity. "What? What is so funny?"

"Blaine, you live in the flat below me. I believe we will see each other," he laughs, Blaine joining him.

"Ah, yes, of course. I will see you later, then, I suppose," Blaine says.

"Till later."

Blaine waved at him before he walked down the pavement to the bus stop. Kurt stayed at the doorway, watching him fit in the countless of other people going to work. A glimmering smile appeared on Kurt's face. Maybe he wasn't as bad as he first thought.


End file.
